The Puddleford Papers; Or, Humors of the West

by Henry Hiram Riley

Dobbs immediately introduced a seton into the side of his patient, "to get up a greater fluttering somewhere else, and get away the flutter at the heart, and when that went, the fever would go away with it," he said.

Dobbs moved around Puddleford for a day or so, with great pomp of manner. He had unseated Teazle, and now occupied his place. But what was his surprise to find Short and Teazle united, and out upon him, in full cry! Short had become chagrined because Dobbs had been called to fill the place of Teazle, instead of himself.

The war was renewed with increased fury. Dobbs's seton failed to produce the desired effect, and he, therefore, resorted to blistering and calomel. In a week he had nearly skinned and salivated the poor woman, and yet she lived. The fact was, Dobbs was a greater blockhead than Teazle, if that were possible. Ike Turtle said the "old 'oman was between Scyller and Charabides!"—Ike had heard this classical allusion at some time,—"and she'd got-ter go for it—and she'd better just step out at onst, and save trouble and expense."

The "Colonel" said that he "once read a story in Æsop's Fables, called the 'Fox and the Brambles,' and he recollected that the Fox refused to shake off a swarm of flies that were sucking out his life-blood, because a more hungry swarm would succeed; and he thought Mrs. Longbow made a great mistake in discharging Teazle; for Teazle had exhausted his energies upon his patient, and nature was about restoring the ruin he had wrought."

Bates expressed a different opinion. He was a strong advocate of lobelia and cayenne-pepper—he was, in short, a supporter of the "hot-water" practice. All mineral medicine Bates declared poisonous. Bates said "Nature knew enough to take care of herself—for every disease a remedy had been provided—what we call weeds were all valuable remedies: and he thought Teazle and Dobbs ought both to be indicted for malpractice."

This war between men, soon became a war of systems. Philista Filkins, Aunt Sonora, Bates & Company, raised a tempest around Longbow's ears; and Dobbs was finally thrown overboard, and his medicines after him; and Mrs. Filkins was placed at the helm, and the hot-water practice introduced.

But what is the use, reader?—Mrs. Longbow died. Who wouldn't? Nature cannot endure everything—she died, and was buried. But who killed her? That was a question for months afterwards. Dobbs said Teazle—Teazle said Dobbs; and Teazle and Dobbs, when talking together on the subject, said Mrs. Filkins—and Bates said "the calomel"—and Turtle said "the 'oman had been conspir'd agin, and was killed."

I attended the funeral of Mrs. Longbow. A funeral is solemn anywhere—in the wilderness it is impressive. In a city it is too often an exhibition of pride, carried down to the very gates of death—the poor handful of dust is used to glorify, a little longer, the living—it preaches no sermon, chastens no feeling; but a funeral in the wilderness is as lonely as one at sea. Nature becomes almost oppressive. The scattered population, for miles around, gathered at the log-chapel, and Bigelow Van Slyck preached over the remains of Mrs. Longbow. The sermon was characteristic of Bigelow—strange and inappropriate, perhaps, in the opinion of the reader; but, after all, the very thing for Bigelow's audience. This was his text: "Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble!" Bigelow said his "text used the word 'man that is born,' &c., but it was jest as applicable to a woman as to a man, for woman was, after all, a kind of a man; not that a woman was a man, nor a man a woman—but texts allers spoke of things in general, 'cause the Bible was writ for all time." In dwelling upon the words "that is born," Bigelow said, "he would go into the history of the Longbow family"—and he did go into their history, with a vengeance. He began with Squire Longbow's grandfather, who, he said, "fit in the old French war," and told us when he was born, and how he lived, and where he lived, and when he died, and gave us a kind of synopsis of the old man's services in the flesh. He then seized, violently, hold of the Squire himself, informed us he was born "down in the Pennsylvanys 'bout the old Tom Jefferson times, was the last of ten children, whose history he couldn't go into for want of time—that the Squire hadn't any larnin' until after he becom'd of age, and then got what he did get himself." Bigelow hoped his audience "would improve on this lesson, and get larnin' themselves." He then followed up the Squire through his immigration and settlement at Puddleford, and informed us, I recollect, among other things, that he built the first frame-house, being "twenty feet by thirty-four." Bigelow was still more specific in his history of Mrs. Longbow. If there was anything overlooked in the poor woman's life, I do not know what it was. Bigelow labored some half hour over her virtues, and brought them out so systematically, at last, that the list, when completed, reminded me of an inventory of the personal effects of a deceased person—of the preparation of a document, to file away somewhere.

The latter part of Bigelow's text, upon the brevity of life, was well managed—roughly, perhaps, but pointedly. He drew copiously from nature, by way of illustration, as all persons do who live more with nature than with man. "The corn," he remarked, "died in the ground, sprouted, grew green, then the blades died agin"—"the flowers jest breathed a few times, then they died"—"day died into night, and night died in the morning"—"everything died everywhere; and man died, and woman died, and we'd all got-ter die." I have selected only a few sentences, at random, from this part of Bigelow's discourse.

Then there was an address to the audience, an address to the aged, another to those in middle life, another to the young, and finally, one to the mourners, standing. Some two hours and a half were occupied in the sermon altogether; and when it finally closed, the remains of Mrs. Longbow were silently and sadly deposited in the grave.